Paper & Pencils
by Sheriff Kirby
Summary: Wilson really needs to learn to manage his anger in better ways. Dark!Wilson.
1. Chapter 1

House was concentrating. His right hand was in a fist, clasped tightly around a pencil, his left hand holding the paper in place. He shuffled the chair slightly closer to the desk, and tilted his head to view his work from another angle. The lines were shaky, and the letter itself oversized and lopsided, but it was his best one so far. It gave him a immense sense of accomplishment to look over at his first attempts and see how much he had progressed in the hour or so he had been working. A wide grin spread across his face, and he swivelled his chair around, pencil still grasped in his fist, grabbed his cane with his free hand and banged it against the floor a few times to get Wilson's attention (he had already learned that shouting did his throat no favours).

Wilson popped his head around the corner, looked around for House, and stepped into the doorway after spotting him. He was drying his hands on a dishcloth, and looked slightly exasperated, "What is it now, House?" he asked.

House smiled, rested his cane back up against the desk, and indicated with his hand that Wilson come over. Wilson sighed, but tossed the cloth onto the kitchen unit and strolled over to House nonetheless. "What is it House?" Wilson repeated.

"Look." House tore the page he had been using out of the note book, placed it in the pile and lifted his hand to start writing again.

"No, no, no!" Wilson shouted and snatched the pencil from House's clasped fist. "You don't hold it like that." Wilson sighed, rubbed his forehead with one hand, and demonstrated the correct way to hold the pencil with the other, "How many time do I have to show you? You hold it like this." He held the pencil out for House to take back, but House just gave him an odd look and shook his head.

"Can't," House stated.

"Can't what?" Wilson scowled.

House gestured at the pencil, and Wilson gazed down at it for a moment before looking at House again "You can't hold the pencil like that?" he asked.

House nodded firmly. Wilson burst out laughing. House pushed the chair away from the desk and inched it away from the hysterical Wilson, but he didn't make it far before Wilson had calmed down a bit, "Then why the hell are you even bothering with this crap?" Wilson picked up one of the sheets of paper House had been working on, it was covered in large, wobbly letters of the alphabet and monosyllabic word, and he shook it in House's face.

House pushed the paper away with trembling hands, and looked up at Wilson, his eyes burned and his lower lip quivered. "Happy Wilson," he whimpered.

Wilson snorted. "No, I'm not happy right now House."

House nodded, "Know," he pointed at the sheet of paper again. "Happy Wilson," he repeated.

Wilson paused, and looked at the paper again, "You thought this would make me happy?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. House nodded. "Then you're more crazy than we thought." Wilson turned to walk away, but House's shaky hands weakly grabbed his left arm and he stopped.

"Let go of me. Dinner's burning," Wilson said as he tried to pull his arm away. House's hands didn't budge. "I said let go of me!" He could smell the burning now. The food would be ruined now and he's have to start again from scratch. House's hands still didn't move. "God dammit, House. You'll set the kitchen on fire. Is that what you want?" House just stared at him with a bemused look, Wilson wasn't even sure he understood. But House still wouldn't let go, and it was really pissed Wilson off. "Let go!" Wilson screamed.

"No." House shook his head. "Pencil," he said, tilting his head towards the object in Wilson's left hand.

The smoke detector started blaring, and made both House and Wilson jump. "God dammit. See what you did House?" Wilson tried to pull away from House again, but he still wouldn't let go.

"Pencil," House asserted again.

"You want the goddamn pencil?" House nodded, "Then take the goddamn pencil!" Wilson shouted over the alarm. He wrenched his arm free of House's hold, adjusted his grip on the pencil and thrust it into House's left shoulder. House yelped in agony and drew back so fast he nearly tipped his chair over. Wilson completely ignored House and ran off into the kitchen. House whimpered and groaned in pain, his hand hovered inches from the pencil. He wasn't sure what to do; it hurt, it really, really hurt. But somewhere deep inside him, something was saying he shouldn't pull it out.

The pain won out in the end, and House yanked the pencil out with another yelp of pain, and threw it on the floor. The pain was still there, but now he was bleeding too. House panicked at the sight of his own blood, he whimpered, touched it, and tried to wipe it away, but more kept coming and he didn't know what to do. The smoke alarm was still roaring, he was bleeding all over his favourite shirt and Wilson was out of sight (the last time House had hurt himself, Wilson had been there to fix it up and keep him calm, and it hadn't been nearly as bad as this wound was).

House tried desperately to wipe at his watering eyes, but the blood from his hands got into them and made them sting, which only added to his panic. "Stupid pencil!" House shouted in frustration. He grabbed his cane with his good arm and used it to strike the pencil until it shattered.

The combination of panic, exertion and pain, was making it difficult for House to breathe. His, short ragged, panicked, breaths made it difficult to draw in enough air, and his hands trembled wildly as he tried to staunch the flow of blood still oozing from his shoulder.

The more he panicked, the harder it became to breathe, the harder it was to breathe, the harder it was to keep his hands under control, the harder it was to keep his hands in control, the more he panicked. It was a cycle with only two possible ends in sight; death, or Wilson.

Fortunately for House, the racket of the smoke detector had finally faded away and Wilson emerged from the kitchen looking flustered and carrying a med kit.

Wilson took one look at House, frightened, breating rapidly, hand clutching his wounded shoulder, face and shirt covered in blood, and it finally hit him, exactly what he had done. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "House, I'm so sorry," he said as he cautiously took a step closer. House whimpered and tried to shuffle away without leaving the comfort of his chair.

Wilson saw fear in House's eyes and that disturbed him. "It's okay, House, I'm not going to hurt you." He held up his free hand in a gesture of surrender and took another step closer.

"No pencil?" asked House.

"No pencil." Wilson nodded, put the med kit on the floor and kneeled down next to House. House's eyes followed him closely, but he didn't attempt to pull away again. Wilson snapped on a pair of gloves and gently pulled at the hand House had covering the wound, "Can I look?" he asked. House shook his head. "Please? I just want to fix it, House." House averted his eyes, and thought for a moment, but he eventually let Wilson move his hand and take a look.

Wilson swallowed convulsively, House's shirt was covered in blood, but he couldn't really see the wound itself with House's shirt still on. "Um, House?" He gently prodded House's arm to take his attention off the injury, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cut your shirt off, okay?" House just blinked at him. "Okay?" Wilson asked again. House nodded slowly. Wilson opened the med kit and rummaged around for a minute looking for the scissors, "Here we go." He pulled the scissors out and showed them to House, "I need you to sit still now, okay?" House nodded, and stopped fidgeting.

Wilson steadily cut the shirt, then smoothly peeled the drenched cloth away from the wound. He was relieved to see the bleeding had calmed a lot, and all things considered, the wound appeared pretty clean. House would need a couple of stitches, and to rest the shoulder, but would probably be fine in the long run.

Wilson carefully cleaned, stitched and bandaged the wound. House remained worryingly silent the entire time. "There." Wilson finished the bandaging and gently tapped House's arm to show that he was done.

"Thank you," House muttered.

Wilson smiled weakly. "No problem… and I'm really sorry House." He shoved the bits and pieces back into the med kit and picked the bloody shirt and shards of the pencil up off the floor, then went into the kitchen, stored the med kit back under the sink and threw the pencil, shirt and dirty gloves, cotton-wool and bandages in the trash.

Wilson then made his way to the bedroom, found House a clean shirt in the wardrobe and rummaged through a box in the back to find another pencil and shoved it in the pocket of his pants. Then he went back out to House.

Wilson helped House into the shirt, then pulled up a seat and sat at the desk with House. House gave Wilson a questioning look, but Wilson just smiled and pulled the pencil out of his pocket. When House saw the pencil he pushed away and almost panicked again, but Wilson carefully handed it to him and said, "Why don't you show me what you can do?" House calmed almost instantly, smiled, nodded and hesitantly took the pencil.

If past experiences were anything to go by, House would forget about the incident fast enough, all Wilson would have to do would be to make sure he didn't mention it to anyone before that happened.

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_This is a oneshot for now, but I might expand on it in the future._

_Intended as post Head & Heart (I.E, House became brain damaged from the DBS), but that may change, should I ever expand it._


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was peeking through the curtains and the incessant knocking on the door was beginning to get on Houses nerves. He let out a low moan, rolled over to face away from the intrusive light, and lifted the blankets over his head. It was already well past midmorning, but the throbbing in his leg and shoulder had kept him awake for most of the night, so Wilson had agreed to let him sleep in. Wilson was probably feeling guilty over what had happened the night before; he had always been the self-critical sort.

The knocking eventually stopped, and House could hear voices coming from the living room, Wilson must have answered the door – not that House was allowed to anymore; sometimes Wilson just ignored it. House closed his eyes and tossed and turned for a few minutes, trying in vain to get some more much needed sleep. After a few minutes he realised it was a useless effort, and he wasn't going to get back to sleep anytime soon. He tossed the covers off, pulled himself up into a sitting position, stretched, yawned, rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes, and sat quietly, adjusting to the light for a moment.

Eventually he shuffled over to the side of the bed and slipped his feet into his fluffy doggy slippers – when House had first seem them Wilson had been extremely reluctant to buy them for him, but when House set his mind on something even Wilson couldn't convince him to change his mind. He eyed the two pills and the glass of water on his bedside table (Wilson must have left them there - he didn't trust him to remember how many pills he should take anymore. House somehow knew he _should_ find that condescending, but he actually rather liked the proof that Wilson cared about him). He contemplated the pills for a moment, then looked at his shaky hands - could he hold them? He thought so. For the water, though, he would need to use both hands. He grabbed one pill, popped it in his mouth, then did the same with the other, he tried to swallow without the water - he knew he used to do that - but it was too difficult now, so he slowly reached out for the glass, and grasped it with both hands. It was only filled halfway - Wilson knew he wasn't very good with delicate tasks anymore - and carefully began lifting it to his mouth. He grimaced at the taste of the pills as they began dissolving on the tongue, and finally brought the glass to his mouth and downed the pills with a large gulp of water. He finished off the glass, carefully placed it back on the table, and smiled with satisfaction at his accomplishment.

Next he shuffled over to the other end of the bed, grabbed his cane in his right hand, pushed himself to his feet and leaned heavily on the cane. Fortunately for both of them, Wilson had stabbed his left shoulder, or he would have even more trouble getting around than usual and the injury would be easily apparent to any visiting friends.

House limped over to his bedroom door and poked his head outside, he couldn't see Wilson or the visitor from here, so they must have gone into the kitchen. His assumption was soon confirmed by the sound of their voices, the clatter of kitchen utensils and the smell of Wilson's cooking.

House hobbled, sleepily and still pyjama clad, into the living room. He sneezed a couple of times (Wilson always insisted on leaving the windows open, and letting all the pollen in - it had been a game at one point, where House would go around closing them whenever Wilson opened them, but he had stopped when Wilson snapped at him about it), he snorted and rubbed his nose on the elbow of his pyjamas, then limped the rest of the way into the kitchen.

"Wilson?" House asked in a slightly subdued voice.

Wilson was standing at the stove, no doubt cooking breakfast. He tuned his head to look at House over his shoulder, smiled, and tilted his head slightly to the left. "Say hello then, House," he said.

House looked over. Not surprisingly, the visitor was Cuddy. She was seated at the small table Wilson and he ate their meals at, and sipping at a coffee mug. She smiled at him. "Good morning House."

House lifted his free arm and sort of wiggled his fingers in greeting. Cuddy returned his wave. "How are you this morning, House?" she asked.

"Good." House lied. His leg and shoulder were still sore, even after taking his medicine and he was still feeling very tired, but he didn't think he was supposed to say that, so he just lied instead. House plonked himself down in the seat to Cuddy's left, and they sat in companionable silence for a moment.

After a while Wilson came over with the breakfast, a huge stack of pancakes. He placed a couple on his own plate and a couple on House's and offered a plate to Cuddy, but she declined, saying she had eaten already. "You're up early for the weekend, House," Wilson commented, as he cut House's pancakes into manageable slices before handing the plate to him.

"Week…end?" House was bemused by Wilson's cheeriness and choice of food. After what had happened the night before, he had sort of expected him to be mad. Maybe it was because Cuddy was here - Wilson never wanted Cuddy to know when they'd had an argument, he didn't want Cuddy to be angry, because Wilson was a good friend like that.

"Yes. You know, Saturday? Sunday? The days between Friday and Monday?" Wilson asked sarcastically, swinging his fork around as if to emphasise and laughing lightly.

"Yeah." House nodded.

Wilson placed the sliced pancakes in front of House and handed him a fork. House took the fork and Wilson frowned as he gripped it in a fist, much like how he had held the pencil the day before.

"I was thinking I could take him to the park today," started Cuddy, "maybe see if we can find that bird he likes…"

Wilson frowned and looked at House, who was pretty much ignoring them in favour of shoving as many slices of pancake into his mouth as was physically possible. "I don't know…"

"Come on Wilson. House loves it, and you need some time to yourself now and then." Wilson's eyes went to House's shoulder for a second, but soon returned to Cuddy. "I'll think about it. Maybe this afternoon. Maybe."

"Okay, that's great." Cuddy pushed her chair out and stood. House took his eyes off his pancakes to look up at her. "I'll come round to get him at," she glanced at her watch, "about half two."

Wilson opened his mouth to protest, but before he had a chance, she had patted House's head and said she had better leave them to their breakfast. "Bye," said House, awkwardly attempting a wave again.

"Goodbye." Cuddy smiled at him, waved back and saw herself out.

House immediately went back to shovelling pancakes into his mouth and watching Wilson. Wilson sighed deeply, set his pancakes to one side, and got up to pour himself a mug of coffee. House finished off the last slice of his pancakes and pushed the plate towards Wilson. "More!" he demanded, spitting crumbs out of his mouth.

Wilson scowled and took the plate off him. House made a slow growling sound in the back of his throat to indicate his disapproval. "I didn't make any more. Anyway, you've made enough of a mess as it is." Wilson dumped the plate in the sink, wet a cloth, kneeled down next to House, and wiped at his mouth. "Cuddy, wants to take you to the park later. We need to get a few things straight first though, okay?" House nodded. He knew where this was going, they'd been through it before, but it was best to just listen anyway.

Wilson pushed himself to his feet, helped House up, and walked into the living room, House traipsing after him. The two sat down on the couch and House nervously fiddled with his cane and the sleeve of his pyjama top.

Wilson sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Okay, so you want to go to the park with Cuddy, don't you House?" he asked.

House nodded vigorously. He loved spending time with Cuddy, she was nice, she never yelled at him, she took him to fun places, and bought him loads of ice-cream and pretty much anything else he asked for. He loved the park too; he could sit and watch people, or walk until his leg hurt too much, and his favourite bird lived there.

"Good, that's good. And you want me to let you go, don't you?" House nodded again. "And you don't want Cuddy to get angry, or try and take you away from me permanently do you?" House's eyes widened. Cuddy wouldn't do that, Cuddy was nice, Cuddy never got angry, Cuddy never took him anywhere he didn't want to go, and Cuddy wouldn't take him away from Wilson. He shook his head; he didn't want Cuddy to be angry, and he liked living with Wilson.

"Good, that's good too. If you don't want that to happen, you'll have to listen to me okay?" House nodded again. "Don't tell Cuddy about what happened last night, okay." House had guessed that was coming, but he nodded anyway. It wouldn't be hard, he probably couldn't say anything even if he wanted to, so not saying anything would be a cinch. "You can't let her see the bandage either, keep your jacket on, even if it's warm." Again, House just nodded mutely. "She can't know that it hurts either, so don't move your shoulder too much, don't lean on it, or lift anything too heavy - which you shouldn't be doing anyway - don't let her touch it, and try not to wince when you move it. I'll give you another vicodin before you leave, so hopefully it shouldn't hurt too much anyway. Got all that?" House nodded again. "Good. Remember this is important, if you want to keep living with me."

House understood that it was important Cuddy not find out he was hurt, he wasn't quite sure why though. Obviously something was wrong and it would make Cuddy mad, but House had done stupid things around Cuddy before, and she had never been very angry (on one occasion he had run out of paper and painted elephants all over her living room wall, she had just laughed and said she had been planning on re-decorating anyway), but he was sure if Wilson was saying this, it must be for a good reason, so he would listen anyway.

Wilson pushed himself up off the couch and clasped his hands together, "Right. Time to get you dressed," he announced, changing the subject. "Wait there." Wilson disappeared around the back of the couch, and House heard his bedroom door open and close, Wilson must have gone to find him some clean clothes. House sat, chewed on his pyjama sleeve, tapped his feet and cane in a tuneless staccato and waited. Wilson soon returned carrying a pile of clothes. He lay the neatly folded pile on the coffee table, stepped over to House, leaned over, and, to House's surprise and amusement, sniffed him. Wilson pulled back, a look of disgust on his face. "You stink," he announced. House giggled and stuck out his tongue. Wilson sighed and rubbed at his face, "I'm not joking House, you really do stink." Wilson disappeared from view for a moment again, and reappeared carrying a large fluffy towel. "Bath time."

"No!" House practically screamed. He tried to jump to his feet and run away, but Wilson, grabbed him wrapped the towel around his flailing limbs and dragged him into the bathroom.

"This isn't a goddamn game House. You stink, and you need a bath." The bath was already filled - House assumed Wilson must have done it when he went to get the towel - so all Wilson needed to do was turn off the taps, strip House, and get him in the tub; which he managed to do quite efficiently, despite House's relentless thrashing.

Once he was actually inside the bath, House calmed down considerably, and allowed Wilson to scrub him all over, but made absolutely no effort to help. Once Wilson was done scrubbing him, he pulled the plug, helped House out of the bath, and rubbed him down from head to toe with the fluffy over-sized towel, changed his bandage, then retrieved his clothes - which had been abandoned on the coffee table - and helped him into them. House grumbled and fidgeted the whole time, but didn't attempt to stop him.

By the time they were done with the bath, it was already quarter past two, so House sat down on the couch, swallowed the vicodin and water that Wilson gave him and listened while he repeated the rules, nodding along when required, lastly he shimmied into the jacket Wilson gave him and switched the TV on to watch General Hospital while he waited for Cuddy to arrive.

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_Notes: I had intended to expand on this, but my muses wanted to continue it instead, so I just went with it._

_Hopefully I'll stay motivated enough to continue this to the end. If I don't update for a while, could someone do me a big favour and just give me a (metaphorical) shove (by that I mean leave me a message reminding me)?_


	3. Chapter 3

There was a knock at the door, and House smiled. He glanced at his watch, he couldn't really read it anymore, but he liked wearing it anyway, it was just for show really. Wilson had promised to get him one that spoke, but he'd obviously forgotten, or maybe he was just saving it for a special occasion.

Since checking his watch left him none the wiser to the actual time, he just pulled his cane closer and stayed sitting while he waited for Wilson to answer the door (Wilson didn't let him answer the door anymore, ever since that incident when he had decide it would be a good idea to growl at the mailman. He would never have bitten him if he had had just given him the package and left, but House supposed if he was intelligent enough to do that, he never would have been a mailman in the first place. Fortunately he hadn't actually broken the skin, so Wilson had managed to sweep it under a rug of apologies, the mailman had changed his route, and all was soon forgotten).

Wilson trudged out from the kitchen, a look of disapproval on his face, he handed House a vicodin and glass of water and watched him take it, then he heaved a heavy sigh. "Behave," he sternly warned House. House nodded. He realised it must be time for Cuddy to pick him up, or Wilson would have just answered the door straight away and ignored him, so he got up and followed Wilson to the door.

House saw Wilson plaster a fake smile on his face before he answered the door, but ignored it. Wilson always liked Cuddy to think he was happy, even when he wasn't. House didn't know why, but Wilson did a lot of things that House couldn't think of a good reason for, so he had learned to mostly just ignore them. House stayed a few steps behind Wilson as he pulled the door open; it was Cuddy, of course. House smiled over Wilson's shoulder and waved at her. "Hello House," said Cuddy. "Is he ready to go?" she asked Wilson.

Wilson nodded, and handed her House's vicodin. "He's just had one, but just in case." Cuddy nodded and stuck them in her handbag. "Don't give him too much ice-cream, last time you brought him back he was on a sugar high and broke the TV playing ball with his cane." Wilson scowled.

Cuddy scratched behind her ear, and laughed nervously. "Sorry about that, he broke into the freezer and ate it all when I was on the phone. He was quiet so I thought he was being good. He's worse than a dog." She laughed again, but Wilson was still scowling. Cuddy shook her head. "Look, I'll pay for the TV if it means that much to you."

"No. Just don't let it happen again. I don't want him having ice-cream or candy."

Cuddy nodded. "Okay, sure, that sounds reasonable…" But she couldn't help feeling slightly troubled by Wilson's adamants, it was only a TV after all.

"Good. When will you bring him back?" Wilson asked as he stepped out of the way to let House out the door.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll look after him for the rest of the day, you just relax." Cuddy smiled and placed a hand on House left elbow. Slightly panicked, he flinched away from her hand, but she didn't notice, and Wilson gave him a warning glare, so he stilled.

"No. You said you were just taking him to the park." Wilson took a step closer to Cuddy, his scowl deepening.

"Don't worry about it, you need a day to yourself, and I'm sure I can entertain House for the rest of the day." House gave Wilson a doe-eyed look of pleading. He loved spending time with Cuddy, but with her responsibilities to the hospital, it wasn't often that she would offer to look after him for a whole day.

Wilson ignored House and glared at Cuddy. "I said no!" he shouted. "You can take him to the park, or you can take him no where at all." He reached over, grabbed House's arm and forcefully pulled him back towards the apartment. House scrambled to stop himself tripping over, and leaned his weight up against the wall. He grunted, righted himself and started walking toward Cuddy's car.

"Park," House announced solemnly. "Just park."

Cuddy stood dumbfounded by Wilson's actions, she blinked and shook her head. "Why…" Cuddy started to ask. But before she could finish, she was interrupted by Wilson.

"I want him back by half three." Then he slammed the door in her face.

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Cuddy just stood there, staring at the closed door. What was Wilson thinking? She'd definitely need to talk to him about this later, but right now House was calling her, so she shook herself out of her daze and turned around.

House called again, he was practically jumping in excitement like an over excited Labrador when it's master shouted 'walkies'. Cuddy found his vigour in the face of Wilson's actions disturbing, it was as though nothing had happened. Maybe in House's eyes nothing had. She followed House down to the car, unlocked the doors and gave him a hand getting in and buckling up, then went back around to the drivers side and sat for a minute. House looked at her and tilted his head to the side. "Park?" he asked gingerly.

Cuddy paused, and looked over at the apartment, Wilson was nowhere to be seen, the curtains were drawn and the windows closed. Slowly, she nodded and turned the key in the ignition. "Yeah, time to go to the park."

House's favourite park was a good twenty minute drive away, and Cuddy knew she couldn't get away with taking him to any other park (the last time she tried he'd thrown a tantrum until he got his way), so if she stuck to Wilson's time, they'd be lucky to get and hour and a half at the park. But after what he'd done Cuddy wasn't really in the mood to stick to Wilson's rules. "House, there's some candy in the glove compartment if you want it," she pointed out, as she pulled out into the road. Wilson be damned.

House leaned forward, opened the glove compartment, and rummaged though the small pile of candy. Eventually he, predictably, settled on a red lollipop and slammed the compartment closed again. He gazed adoringly at the lollipop for a moment, as if it was a winning lottery ticket, then tore the wrapping off and put it in his pocket, and shoved the lollipop in his mouth. He slurped and licked at it in such a grotesque fashion that, if he had been himself, Cuddy would have said he was being deliberately and blatantly provocative (in both senses of the word), now she just cringed and made a silent pact with herself to never give him a lollipop in a public place.

The two sat quietly for a while, House slowly making his was through the candy (and occasionally offering a gummy bear to Cuddy) and Cuddy concentrating on the driving. When Cuddy stopped at a red light she looked over at House, he was staring morosely at the empty compartment. He turned his head and pouted at her. "More?" he asked.

Cuddy sighed. "I think you've had enough for now. I'll buy you an ice-cream when we get there, okay." House sighed a put-upon sigh, but nodded nonetheless.

After another five minutes or so of silence, which House spent tapping his feet, sighing and fidgeting, Cuddy couldn't keep her thoughts to herself any longer. "Wilson," she started. House stopped fidgeting instantly and his head snapped around to face her, she was startled by House's reaction, but continued anyway, "Does he… is he… has he done something like that before?" House tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. Cuddy was pretty sure he was feigning ignorance, but she elaborated anyway, "Does he get mad at you a lot, like before we left?" House started fidgeting again, and turned away from her to look out the window. All Cuddy could think was that if the answer was 'no', then the question wouldn't be making House feel so uncomfortable.

Eventually House turned back to her, his face was determined. He shook his head firmly. "No," he said, "Wilson's good friend."

Cuddy nodded slowly. "Okay," she said. She wasn't sure she believed House, but now wasn't the time to press on the matter. For now she'd just pay closer attention to House and have a little chat with Wilson when she took House home.

Cuddy found a space outside the park, and went over to help House out of the car. "I have some bread in the trunk for Russell if you want it," she said. House nodded, and Cuddy went to retrieve the bread. She was pretty sure you weren't supposed to feed birds bread, but she hadn't had a chance to buy any bird seed yet, and House would've had a tantrum if she didn't bring anything for it.

Russell was an oversized crow that hung around by the duck pond (probably in hopes of stealing food when children were feeding the ducks). House had taken a liking to it almost the moment he had seen it, and it seemed the bird had also taken a liking to him (though Cuddy suspected that was only because House fed it so much). Cuddy wouldn't let him try to pet it (it seemed friendly enough, but Cuddy dared not think how House would react if it pecked or scratched him), but House seemed happy just feeding it anyway. Cuddy often wondered if House's choice in name for the bird was merely a coincidence, or if it was a left over spark from the old House. Either way she supposed it didn't really make much difference, but it was nice to think the old House was still in there somewhere.

Cuddy grabbed the bag of bread, slammed the trunk closed and she and House walked the rest of the way to the park. Because it was a weekend, the park was quite busy, but House seemed to like it like that. Lots of people to watch, lots of things going on. He seemed to like the park for people watching (and the bird) more than anything.

House led Cuddy to his favourite picnic table, and sat down to wait for Russell. Cuddy placed the bread on the table and stood in front of House. "I'm just going to the bathroom," she pointed at the small brick building in the distance, "you wait here, okay?" House nodded, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention, he was too busy looking for the crow, so she repeated herself, and made sure House understood before she left.

House was still sitting at the bench when she got back. He was rapidly tapping his cane on the ground and looked agitated. "What's wrong House?" asked Cuddy.

"Russell," House replied. Cuddy looked around for a moment, she had assumed the bird had come and gone, but the bag of bread she had left on the table was untouched. Usually Russell greeted House when they arrived, House would feed him, then Russell would go back to watching the duck pond from the same old tree. House had chosen his bench for prime viewing of said tree, so Cuddy could easily see that the bird wasn't there now.

"Hasn't he been here yet?" she asked. House shook his head, but wouldn't look at her. Never in her life had Cuddy felt so worried about an animal, she liked animals, yes, but she had never held any single one in such high esteem. House obsessed over that bird, he would bring it things, talk to it in short sentences and words, and share food with it, it seemed to bring out something in him that nothing else could. If it wasn't there anymore, if it had died, House would be devastated. "Then… why don't we go look for him? Maybe he's just somewhere else." God she hoped so. She hoped they would find it, and it would be fine, that it had just found a supply of food, and was stuffing its face. She doubted it though.

Upon Cuddy's suggestion, House pushed himself to his feet and traipsed off, Cuddy followed after him. The park was bustling with lots of small children and dogs chasing Frisbees, but most people were either by the pond feeding the ducks, or hanging around in the large open area. House wondered off into a small forested section of the park, and began looking around, and Cuddy helped him.

Together they searched the park for a good half hour looking for the lost bird (Cuddy hadn't realised how big the place seemed until she had to look at it so thoroughly), Cuddy was beginning to think it was a useless search, and she was going to tell House to quit (if the bird was dead, she really didn't want to find it) when House's panicked voice called out. Cuddy rushed over to where House was standing, a bad feeling in her stomach, and followed House's line of sight. The crow - Russell - was lying on the ground, his feathers were rumpled and bloody, it looked like he'd been attacked by a dog. Cuddy looked back at House, his lips were trembling, and he looked a second away from crying. This had been a bad idea. "R - Russell?" he stammered, and tried to take a step closer.

"No, House." Cuddy halted his advance, forced him to turn away from the bird, and pulled him into a hug. He lay his head on her shoulder, sobbed and mumbled incoherently. "It's okay, House, it's just… it's okay." Cuddy had no idea what to say. What were you supposed to say to this? It was just a bird, just a goddamn bird. She wished she'd never brought him to this park in the first place now.

She pulled away from House after a few minutes, his face was red, puffy and covered in tears and snot from crying, and his hands were shaking more than usual, but he seemed to have calmed down a bit. Cuddy pulled a few tissues out of her handbag and gently wiped the tears from his face. "It's okay," she repeated.

House shook his head. "Russell's dead, not okay." And that just felt like a pitchfork through Cuddy's heart. It was her fault he found him, she'd suggested looking for him, and that made here feel even worse.

"I think it might be best if we just went home now, House," Cuddy managed to croak out. She nervously bit her lip and weakly squeezed House's arm, then picked up his cane, which he must have dropped when he had found Russell, and handed it back to him. House slowly nodded, took the cane, and started walking towards the car.

The ride back was made in complete silence. House spent the whole time staring dejectedly out of the window and Cuddy shooting him surreptitious glances, and hoping he'd be okay.


	4. Chapter 4

Cuddy pulled up outside House's apartment and turned off the cars engine. "House?" she asked. House was still staring out the window, like he had been for the whole drive back. Cuddy couldn't see his face, but she thought it was safe to assume that he wasn't actually looking at anything, more likely he was just avoiding looking at her. The only reply she received was a rapid inhalation of breath and a twitch of his hand. "House?" she repeated. She stretched out a hand to tap him on the shoulder, but before she made contact he flinched away and quickly turned to face her. His eyes were still red and puffy, but Cuddy didn't think he'd been crying again, she would've heard him, she didn't think he had the will to cry silently anymore.

"Wha…" House attempted to speak, but his voice cracked and he couldn't even finish the word. He closed his eyes and drew in a slow, deep, calming breath and tried again, "What?" he managed to croak out.

"Um, we're back." Cuddy flicked her hand towards her window, to indicate the apartment, House's eyes followed her hand and he nodded. "So, um, I think we should go inside now, okay?" House's eyes dashed around, and he started picking bits of imaginary lint off his jacket, but eventually he nodded.

Cuddy went around to the passengers side of the car and gave House a hand getting out. House grunted and leaned heavily on his cane. "Are you okay?" asked Cuddy. House nodded and started to shuffle off towards the apartment. Cuddy opened the door into the foyer and helped House up the steps, then unlocked the door into the apartment (Wilson had given her a key sometime ago. 'In case of emergencies' he had said, but she used it all the time now) and stepped inside, House followed closely behind her.

Inside the apartment, the lights were off, except for a small lamp on the table beside the couch. The TV was on, but the volume was turned low, and it was almost inaudible. Wilson was sitting on the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him, it looked like he was asleep, but Cuddy flicked the light switch to on anyway.

Wilson jumped to his feet with a yell, and tried to shield his eyes from the light with his arms, evidently he really had been asleep. Wilson groaned and let his eyes slowly adjust to the light. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked. "Cuddy? House? You're back early," he noted with a frown. House ignored him, miserably shuffled off to his bedroom, and slammed the door. Wilson flinched at the noise and turned back to look at Cuddy, who was still standing by the door. "What's the matter with him?" he asked.

Cuddy sighed, closed the front door, and started to walk towards Wilson. "We need to talk," she said.

Wilson took his place back on the couch, and Cuddy sat down next to him. "What happened?" Wilson asked, scrutinising her face for clues. "Look," Wilson pre-empted, before Cuddy had a chance to reply, "if this is about what happened before you left; it was a mistake, and I know it shouldn't have happened. The nurse I pay to look after him while I'm at work had just called, and said she couldn't come this week, I was frustrated, and I made a mistake." It was an easy lie to tell. He'd realised his mistake almost immediately after House and Cuddy had left. He hadn't wanted Cuddy to spend too much time with House until his shoulder was fully recovered, so he had snapped when Cuddy wanted to look after him all day. He had guessed that Cuddy wouldn't just let the incident go when they got back, so he had called the nurse and told her he didn't need her to come in for the week. He knew Cuddy would still be mad, but at least now he would have a fairly good excuse for getting so angry, and she wouldn't find out about what had happened the other day.

Cuddy nodded, but her face stayed serious and stern. "I understand that, but it was inexcusable and it can't happen again. House isn't in a position where he can defend himself, or understand what's going on with you. You absolutely can't take your anger out on him, ever. If I ever, _ever,_ see anything like this happen again, I'll take him away from you before you can so much as say sorry."

Wilson pushed himself to his feet with a long drawn out sigh, and started pacing and rubbing the knot of tension in the back of his neck. "I know, I know." He stopped pacing and leaned up against the couch. He lifted his hand in surrender and put on a face of earnestness, his best puppy dog eyes, that he saved for occasions such as this, and stopped blinking so his eyes would start to water (a technique he learned as a child when he wanted to get his own way). "I promise it'll never happen again, and if it does, feel free to take him from me. I was frustrated, I was angry, and I took it out on him. I shouldn't have."

Cuddy nodded stiffly. "Sit down." She sighed. Wilson obeyed. "Look, this isn't something I can just forget about, it's House's wellbeing, his health and happiness, we're talking about here. But I also know you're a good man, and I know you'd never set out to hurt him. It's only expected that you'll get frustrated from time to time, it would be a miracle if you didn't, so for now I'm just going let it drop. Next time you get angry, just yell at me instead." Wilson dumbly nodded along, like a nodding-dog on a rollercoaster.

"Thank you," he said smiling weakly.

Cuddy shook her head. "You can thank me by making sure it doesn't happen again."

Wilson nodded again. "Is that why House is upset? Does he think I'm still mad at him."

Cuddy averted her eyes. "No." She shook her head, and turned to look at the door that led to House's bedroom. "It's nothing to do with that." Wilson frowned, he had no idea what else the problem could be, but Cuddy looked sad, not angry, so he didn't think she was lying. "His bird, that crow - Russell - it died."

Wilson was speechless. He'd only seen the bird twice himself, he didn't take House to the park very often. But everyone else took him all the time, and he had heard countless times how much House loved the thing. Wilson wouldn't deny that House's obsession with the bird could sometimes annoy him, but as long as other people were the ones wasting time taking House to the park to see it, he didn't mind, and it was actually rather nice to see House so happy. But now the bird was dead, and House was throwing a tantrum. "Dammit," Wilson muttered under his breath. "What happened?" he asked.

Cuddy shook her head. "I'm not sure exactly. It looked like it was attacked by a dog, or something. House found him."

Wilson leaned his elbows on his knees and ran his hands down his face. "Crap," he mumbled. Wilson stood up and walked over to the front door. "Look, I think you should go. I need to talk to him about this."

Cuddy followed Wilson over to the door, and he opened it for her. "I understand. Make sure he's okay. I'll come see you both as soon as I can." She smiled weakly, and left.

Wilson closed the door behind her, turned around, leaned up against it, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank god."

Wilson pushed himself away from the door, locked it, and went over to House's bedroom. He slowly pushed the door open a crack, and the loud creaking it made reminded him that he really needed to oil it sometime. "House?" He pushed the door open further and allowed the light from the hall to illuminate the darkened room. "House?" he asked again, as he stepped further into the room.

House was lying fully clothed in his bed, his still sneaker clad feet poked out of the bottom of the blankets and his coat was tossed on the floor. "Go away," House mumbled then turned over to face away from Wilson, but Wilson ignored him, picked the coat up and hung it on the back of a chair. "Go away," House repeated, his voice partially obscured by the sheets he had his face wedged in.

Wilson walked over to the foot of the bed, gently lifted House right leg and began uniting the lace. "At least let me take your shoes off," he said. House said nothing. "I'm sorry about Russell."

"No," House grunted. He attempted to kick Wilson in the stomach with his left leg, it was weak, and Wilson barely felt it, but it was the intention behind it that annoyed Wilson. "Go away," House repeated.

"Fine!" Wilson shouted. He carelessly threw House's leg back down, and House yelped at the pain the sudden movement caused. "If that's how you want to be, I'll leave you to stew in your own misery. I was just trying to be nice." House flinched at Wilson's harsh tone, and looked at him pathetically, Wilson frowned at him, turned away, walked out and slammed the door behind him.


End file.
